Unholy Night
Before we begin: This chapter contains strong depictions of action violence and questionable behavior. And before anyone starts having conniptions, I am well aware that what our protagonist is about to do is technically unlawful; I'm not stupid, all right? Some characters belong to Nintendo, but the plot is mine, which means that I will have the characters react to any situation however I want them to. If you cannot stomach violence, action or people doing the "wrong" thing, please, stop reading now. Do not flood the reviews page with trolling and complaining. Thank you! :D
Tristan and his accompanying men ran out to the balcony overlooking the lobby and dance floor. The other men on the floor had stopped partying, too, their attention on this sudden intrusion on their festive night. Standing in the center, still as a statue yet shaking slightly, was the man in charge of the ropes during the effigy burning. And not just any man—it was Tristan's second-in-command and chief bouncer, Porky Minch.
Porky looked like he'd been in a fight, with his face raw-looking and swollen. His blond hair did a good job at hiding most of the damage, though. But as the split knuckles indicated, he'd put up a whale of a fight. After all, Tristan didn't appoint him as the chief bouncer of his club for nothing.
But it wasn't Porky who was drawing this attention. It was the man now emerging from behind him. The man who made Tristan into the person he was today. The man Tristan hoped never to see again. The man who was the target of Tristan's little campaign. The man who'd witnessed the double-plushie burning and had emptied his guts due to what he saw. The man whose flaming eyes promised nothing but the worst for Tristan and all of his cronies.
The man in green—Luigi.
Though he showed the unfortunate consequences of picking a fight with Porky Minch, Luigi was ready for action. His disguise had been swapped out for his dry-cleaned and pressed Fire Flower uniform. The L.A. sun had left a nice, golden hue to his skin. His fire, more intense than the fire that consumed those dolls, circulated through his body, concealing his injuries. He locked eyes with the man on the balcony, the man overseeing this nonsense, the man in league with the person who almost ruined his life. Memories struck him like a compact vehicle, the stuff he'd seen on TV and on YouTube, Paul in the hospital, Budd's gross acts, and memories of Stuart Bennigan, that leech, that brainwasher, and what he'd left behind. He must be laughing in that sulfurous pit, laughing at what Tristan, his best friend, was doing to him!
Deep within him, something snapped. He let out a loud yell and tackled Porky face-first to the ground, slamming his fist into the man's back over and over and over, until he was certain Porky's spine was in pieces. He rose to his feet and calmly walked toward Tristan as Porky writhed on the floor, screaming about the absence of feeling in his legs. The other guys didn't even bat an eye, refusing to show anything in front of this green-clad weakling. Porky crawled to safety and whined for someone to get him to the hospital, but his cries went unheeded, as the rest remained rooted in their spots.
Tristan's face was a blank mask as he gave the order. "Get him."
The men accompanying him rushed down the stairs, confronting the intruder. Luigi didn't even waste a second, immediately intercepting their assault. They all wound up stunned by his Cyclone attack and had no time to prepare for his offensive. One got up and was met with a nice kick to the solar plexus, flipped over Luigi's shoulder and slammed down hard. All he could do was look the man in the eye as vicious elbow strikes connected with his neck. The same mercy was shown to the other attackers. Several had their noses smashed clear away, ribs cracked and broken, necks and spinal cords snapped—and for one attacker who tried to put him into a submission hold, his eyes were poked into a pulpy mess.
Body spinning, arm thrusting out in an open hand stab just below the chest of another charging attacker, and then it was just fists, feet, elbows and God-knows-what-else hacking away at the second wave of attackers, and then the third wave, and then the fourth and fifth waves, and so on and so forth as they shouted and he shouted. Some wet their pants. Others soiled themselves. All of them got what they deserved. Tristan's face stayed frozen as his followers were used as punching bags, cracks and thuds sounding in his ears and the scents of blood, saliva and other stuff met his nostrils.
Now, the man these people had shamelessly mocked now held the key to their continued existence. They used to laugh at him and spit at him—and now they were begging from him. These men cowered under tables, shirking from Luigi's gaze, disobeying when Tristan ordered them to attack. But at least they tried to resist. Luigi's face and body were covered with bruises and blood, and there was a mark around his neck when someone had endeavored to strangle him with a nun chuck. That, however, was nothing compared to the shape the opposing parties were in. If they weren't contorting in agony in their own blood and filth, then they were lying motionless in their own blood and filth. Teeth and bits of jaws glittered like diamonds around them. Wide eyes spoke empty apologies, whimpers revealing what kind of men they truly were.
Luigi was now where he could look straight up at Tristan. "Long time, no see, buddy," he said as evenly as possible.
"Sorry, L," sneered Tristan, "but you're not on the guest list."
"I am now," retorted Luigi, "because I decided to invite myself."
"You know, for a pacifist, that's one heck of a job you just did," deadpanned Tristan.
Luigi spread his hands. "Well, if you hadn't been so chummy with that licentious excuse of a human being, then you wouldn't be in this situation."
"I would not bring him into this if I were you," warned Tristan.
"Why not? You're only doing this because you've been under his viperous influence for so long," Luigi shot back. "So, what's your plan, Tristan? Are there any more cronies I need to subdue?"
His answer came in the form of cars screeching into the parking lot.
"Knock yourself out," Tristan said smugly as he heard his reinforcements charge in.
By the dozens, they flooded down the stairs, shouting incomprehensible battle cries and brandishing all types of battering weapons, from nun chucks to chains to crowbars to belts and all others. The men hiding under tables gained courage from these numbers and jumped up to assist their comrades. In seconds, the dance floor became very, very crowded. Luigi found himself smack in the middle of a ring of guys quite capable of tearing him limb from limb.
And he wasn't afraid.
While his facial features relaxed into a curious smile, his dukes were raised, implying something entirely different from that innocent look. He read the facial expressions on the sea of men like novels. Yeah, they were encouraged by his many facial injuries and the blood stains on his Fire Flower uniform, and yes, he look a bit tuckered out. But they should've taken his eyes into consideration, practically begging one of them to throw the first strike. He could take it smiling! What he'd been through was worse than that! More and more reinforcements began to close the circle between them and Luigi, and the hate he held for each and every one of them for trying to break him down was enough to smother whatever fear welling up inside.
Of course, though, they weren't going to see that until later. Right now, his face was bright, eyes snapping, battered and bleeding lips delicately curved in the smile that only the Miis and the six men at the gym had seen. Warm, sticky sweat slid nice and slowly down his skin. As far as his eyes could see, there were nothing but men, and he just breathed, focusing on the movements of his lungs as he pulled and pushed air in and out.
Slightly to his left, Luigi saw one man about to make a move.
He moved first.
His strong arms blocked all of his strikes, and he wasted no time returning them. He blasted hooks into the other man's temples and threw fierce punches and kicks at the face, chest and backside. He gathered up his might and did a powerful headbutt on him. Even though his ears rang, he kept going, racking up the damage points until everyone else distracted him.
Tristan didn't bother watching this battle. Instead, he calmly exited out the back door and made arrangement to ready his private jet. His chauffeur drove him to the airport in record time, and he strode coolly down the tarmac, counting the seconds until the City of Angels was in the rearview mirror.
Unfortunately, when he reached the jet, he was greeted by a very unpleasant sight. His pilot was sitting in the back of a police car, charged with aiding and abetting a criminal. At the doors of the jet, waiting for him, stood a stocky Irishman with jet black hair, a taller masked man with some nice-looking muscles and another person in full body armor.
"Bad news, Tristan Manning," crowed Val. "Your flight's been canceled."
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Back at the club, Tristan's men weren't faring any better. Numbers stood no chance against hate and the desire for vengeance. Luigi moved fluidly through the dense phalanx of attackers, lashing out with heart-stopping force at anyone coming his way. Packs of them were sent flying by his tornado attack, and he used some of them as footstools when he had to jump. His arms ached from using his forward smash so much, but Tristan's cronies didn't care. Neither did he. And apparently, the DJ didn't care, either, continuing to spin tunes, headphones on, as the battle raged.
Now, he was hugging the ground, legs sweeping like a breakdancer's, knocking attackers flat on their bottoms and setting on them before they could get back up. He hopped up in time to pluck this guy's eye from his face and then sock him in the chest, toppling him. Another guy was grabbed, pummeled, swung around and tossed carelessly into his pals. Somebody came at him with a weapon and all Luigi had to do was sidestep, resulting in some friendly fire. Sometimes, he could use their own weapons against them under pressure, lashing out with a lead pipe or a wrench, wrapping a nun chuck around the neck like one tried to do to him or using his shield to protect himself against ninja stars and other sharper weapons and send them right back at their masters. He especially liked it when someone charged at him with knives, broken bottles and other sharp weapons so he could throw some punches, grab them, wrench the thing out of their hands and then use it to carve into them as they screamed. His fireballs and relentless attacks sent everyone into confusion; they sometimes attacked each other trying to get at him. Ringing above the commotion was his own voice, hollering like there was no tomorrow. These hard-headed bullies kept coming at him, and they kept falling. Bones kept snapping apart and cronies kept slipping in blood. Fireballs kept burning in all the right places. Throws kept slamming people into windows and walls. Luigi's heart kept on beating with every harrowing escape from a life-threatening situation.
The secret side of me, I never let you see
I keep it caged but I can't control it
So stay away from me, the beast is ugly
I feel the rage and I just can't hold it
It's scratching on the walls, in the closet, in the halls
It comes awake and I can't control it
Hiding under the bed, in my body, in my head
Why won't somebody come and save me from this, make it end?
I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I hate what I've become, the nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I, I feel like a monster
I, I feel like a monster
My secret side I keep hid under lock and key
I keep it caged but I can't control it
'Cause if I let him out he'll tear me up, break me down
Why won't somebody come and save me from this, make it end?
I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I hate what I've become, the nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I, I feel like a monster
I, I feel like a monster
It's hiding in the dark, it's teeth are razor sharp
There's no escape for me, it wants my soul, it wants my heart
No one can hear me scream, maybe it's just a dream
Maybe it's inside of me, stop this monster
I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I hate what I've become, the nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I've gotta lose control, here's something radical
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I, I feel like a monster
I, I feel like a monster
I, I feel like a monster
I, I feel like a monster
Luigi fought his way up the stairs, in pursuit of Tristan. He knew he fled some time ago, the coward. But he was going to smoke him out, even if it meant plowing through a mess of subordinates. A crazy one decided to swing from a chandelier to get to him, but Luigi grabbed him by his legs, slammed him against the railing a few times and then hurled him back to the main floor below. Still battling for his life, he raced into Tristan's private room.
Tristan wasn't there. But a ton of his cronies were, backing him into a corner. With no way out, Luigi held his ground, quickly making sure his body wasn't that badly injured. He was really bloodied and bruised at this point, but at least all of his vital organs were still intact. The Stars were still on his side.
He refused to think about how he was now stuck in this room. He looked the men straight in the eye, breathing heavily—slowing it—steadying it. A slow count of five in. Now a slow count of five holding it. Now a slow count of five out. And begin again. His heart hammered away, and for the life of him, he couldn't get it down. Especially when he saw the lights slowly dim until they were off completely.
Under the cover of darkness, the swarm of men lunged.
Luigi dodged and weaved, jumped and cartwheeled, striking back when he could. His smash attacks sent some of them crashing out the window for a steep drop, and he wasted no time looking at them. He couldn't, because there were more of them getting in his face. And so he attacked, defended, threw and throttled until he'd cleared out the whole lot.
When the lights came back on, the man in green stood, shaken but still alive, glaring hard at what used to be a crowd of cronies, a few of them literally licking their wounds. Those giving him a very hard time had their forms in impossible positions, a few centimeters of bones poking through the skin. Luigi looked across the room and saw one of them staring at him with goggle eyes, hands raised in surrender. In a few strides, he reached him, took him over his knee and sharply spanked him on the behind.
"This is what you get when you mess with the wrong people!" he admonished. "Now go home to your parents!"
The guy did just that, crying his eyes out.
As Luigi exited the room, a large guy tackled him, using his weight to pin him down as he battered his face with his fists. But the plumber managed to free one hand and used it to sear his assailant's chest with his fire. With him now distracted, Luigi wriggled free, groped for a bit on the floor, snatched up a letter opener and jumped up in time to evade the next charge. Then, Luigi grabbed the man's neck and pinned him securely against the railing. He stuck the letter opener into the man's right shoulder and made a nice cut all the way down his body as the big lug screamed, calling him nasty names. After that, he carved the letter "L" into the singed chest before releasing him, letting him scream like a stuck pig.
The plumber jumped onto the railing and addressed the remnants of Tristan's men.
"Any of you who are still unscathed, you may take your wounded and flee while you have the chance," he announced. "As for those who aren't so lucky, leave anything you lost; it all belongs to me now."
His head whipped toward a familiar figure crawling on his belly toward the exit. "But you, Porky, are going to stay right where you are!" he ordered.
Luigi smiled as the deflated bullies took him up on his offer. Then, out of all occasions, his phone buzzed.
"Well," he said as he read the text message. "Looks like I have places to go."